


those who can't (teach)

by Drac



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Gen, Multimedia, almost everyone is here or will arrive at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-25 04:10:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac/pseuds/Drac
Summary: spare a thought for the beleaguered teachers at King William's School for Boys - spare a thought for their students.(extremely stupid teachers!AU written only for fun, please don't judge my other works based on this rip)
Relationships: Lt Edward Little & Friends
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vegetas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegetas/gifts).
**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for my bingo square "rejection"

The email notifications click off like a firing squad at nine in the morning.

> Dear **Edward Little**,
> 
> We regret to inform you that the position you applied for has already been filled, but we wish you luck with your search!
> 
> Dear **Edward Little**,
> 
> Thank you for your interest in **Full Time Teacher Of Business** at Hiller's -
> 
> Dear **Edward Little** -

He's stopped reading them; so turns his phone over and leaves it on the counter. It's only just turned nine, which probably means that Helen or Jan or Claire from HR has been sitting with the breakfast radio and her hand hovering over 'send' since she got in at half eight. And, with this last rejection from the Ross Academy, Edward's exhausted the openings on LinkedIn, and Monster, and the jobs pages in the _ tes _ magazine. He's going to have to turn to adzuna - he's going to have to reactivate his _ CV Library _ account.

Turns out that when _ the Guardian _ Secret Teacher was whining about the difficulty of finding staff, they weren't talking about Business teachers. Edward's spent the five years since completing his PGCE slipping quietly into and then straight out of maternity cover contracts. Nice schools, all of them - Edward's the one not nice enough for _ them _, as it turns out.

He's probably being harsh on the Secret Teacher, actually - no doubt they work at a comp; Edward did his PGCE at a comp, then did as any number of shiny young Guardian-reading new teachers do - refuse to ever work at one ever again. He _ knows _ , he knows - he's just waiting for new Education policy to come in, and then he _ promises _ he's going to help change the vocation.

His phone buzzes again as he's switching the kettle on. He tries to imagine what it might say; are they a _ Dear Mr Little _ sort of place, or a non-threatening _ Hi Edward _ -

_ buzz buzz _

All the same hollow platitudes: we had a lot of very good applications, we're interviewing some more local applicants, _ unfortunately _ -

_ buzz buzz _

Hang on -

_ buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz _

Who the fuck is Uni George_ ? _

_ _

It takes a full minute for the picture to download, by virtue of Edward's wifi being complete shite, and when it does he's left staring at a screenshot of a very poorly-designed website. 'Uni George' sends another three messages while Edward's trying to decipher the picture.

The _about_ page for King William's School for Boys seems legit, if terrible, and there's even a picture of George, looking almost unchanged from the days when he was Uni George, excepting his hairline creeping over the top of his head, poor bastard.

These are red flags, Edward knows, as are the fifteen staff openings for next year, but the pay's _good_, he knows someone there - _and _it's not a comp. The seventeen unread rejections in his inbox spur him on, and when he receives the email from King William's personnel dept he has to leave a minute or two before replying so he doesn't look too keen.

He's invited for interview the next day


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for my bingo square 'old friends'

King William's is a small school, with old-fashioned wooden doors at the entrance. The board out front says that the Principal is John Franklin, MBE, MEd, BSc, and someone has scratched the word 'sir' before his name.

There's a very nice man on the front desk who introduces himself as Harry Peglar and hands him an interview itinerary; it looks like a template made for five applicants, with just one applicant in it.

> 9:30: **Edward Little** , Tour of the buildings with **John Irving**
> 
> 10:00: **Edward Little** , Interview with ** Principal** , ** Assistant Head ** and ** Deputy Head**
> 
> 11:00: **Edward Little**, Microteach
> 
> 11:15: **Edward Little**, break with staff

Edward tries very hard to find that _ charming _ and _ personalised_, rather than slapdash. It's been a year since his own last interview, and the Interview Suit he'd bought straight out of uni is starting to give up the ghost, so he probably looks fairly slapdash himself.

'Edward?' comes a mild sort of voice from just up the narrow staircase to Edward's left, 'I mean - Mr Little?'

The mild voice belongs to a mild-looking man in a poorly-fitting and over-ironed Marks & Sparks suit, who puts Edward in mind of a scout leader, somehow. He's staring nervously, which is what makes Edward realise that he hasn't answered.

'Oh! Edward's fine. _ Ed_, I mean. Whatever you prefer.'

'Oh _ good_,' says the mild man, mildly, 'for a moment I worried you were a _ parent _ or something. Good _ grief_. I'm John. John Irving, from the itinerary.' The hand he sticks out to shake is sweaty, but Edward's is too - it's not very nice at all.

'So,' says John Irving from the itinerary, 'I'm just going to take you around and... give you a feel for the place, I suppose. Any questions?'

'Not just yet,' says Edward, smiling in a way that he hopes looks professional and not anxious.

'Have you been teaching long?' asks Edward while John leads them silently through the first of a few long corridors, mostly to drown out the sound of his own shoes squeaking.

'Three years out of PGCE.' says John, with a definite full stop at the end of the sentence.

'And you teach...'

'Oh! Art. And R.E. But Art's my big one. Did my PGCE right here at King William's!'

'You've never thought of moving on?'

John stops in his tracks.

'Heavens, no! King William's is... it's a _ family_.'

'Of course!' says Edward, 'I suppose you got lucky. I did mine at... well, you wouldn't have heard of the place, but it really soured me on state schools. I don't think I could go back.'

John frowns worriedly, his nostrils flaring impressively - 'You _ do _ know King William's is state funded, yes?'

'Oh! Yes, of course!' says Edward, who had not, 'I meant, you know, the state _ comprehensive _ system is -'

'King William's _ is _ a comprehensive,' says John, looking more worried than ever -

'Ah!' says Edward, though his mental reading of it is more _ Ahhhhhhh! _ 'Sorry, stumbling my words a bit today. I meant, I couldn't go back _ there_. To that school. Not the comprehensive _ system_, ha! That wouldn't be very _ Guardian Secret Teacher _ of me!'

John is grimacing - his mouth smiles understandingly, but he might be blinking an SOS. He laughs unconvincingly, then claps his hands, 'Well, that's how I ended up teaching R.E. too. Budget cuts. I like it, though! Religious Education, I mean. Not the budget cuts! Hah!'

This is _ awful_. John charges into the next room on the corridor, which thankfully turns out to _ not _ be a classroom, but more a cupboard in which a greasy-haired young man sits ahead of six computer monitors, reading a very battered paperback. He doesn't look up or turn around as Edward and John enter, but his hand slides to his mouse and minimises the rolling command prompt box covering one of the screens.

'Charles is head of IT here!' says John, brightly, and Edward can hear the eyeroll in Charles' voice as he spins in his office chair -

'_Chas_ **_is_** IT here,' says Charles - Chas? - putting his book pages-down on his desk - it's a Mills & Boon. 'can I help you, John?'

'Oh, no - I'm just showing Edward around. We're all very much hoping he'll be our new Business Studies teacher!'

'Hm,' says Chas, and picks his book back up, 'best of luck then, Edward.' He spins back in his chair, quickly maximises-then-minimises his command program again, and flicks to the next page noisily. John shrugs, and herds Edward back out of the room.

'Sorry,' he says, 'Charles can be a bit... abrasive. I think he's stressed. That code he was working on did look pretty complicated.'

'Yeah,' says Edward, who doesn't know _ much _ about programming, but is fairly sure that what Charles - _ Chas??? _ \- had running was not his own code.

'Right!' says John, checking his watch - 'Oh _ bloody hell _ \- Sorry! Pardon language - I won't... I'd wanted to show you everything, but I just - if we start _ running_, I can show you the gyms before your interview... or we can just go back to the entrance, I suppose.'

'Let's head back, then. I'd hate to turn up for my interview sweating -'

'Oh, it wouldn't be a _ long _ run -'

'I'd hate to turn up _ sweating._'

'Of course,' says John, mildly.

-

'Thank you, John,' says the younger-looking of the two old-looking gentlemen in the foyer when they get back, and Edward is only sweating a little. The _ older_-old-man _ beams _ -

'Mister Little! Wonderful to meet you at last,' he says, as though the first he'd heard of Edward wasn't two days ago, and gives a very strong handshake. John waves a little and heads off back up the staircase he'd come from originally.

'I'm _also_ John,' he continues, still shaking Edward's hand _vigorously_, 'John Franklin, the Principal here, and Francis -' he indicates the younger-old-man, '- is my Assistant Head. I'm afraid James is unable to join us, so it'll be just us two. I hope that's not a problem?' Edward boggles at him, unsure of the difference between an _Assistant _Head and a _Deputy_ one, but manages to squeak out an 'of course'.

'You're a friend of George's?' asks Francis, with the kind of intonation that suggests that this is a mark against his character.

'_Old _ friend,' says Edward and, recalling that King William's was George's old school and that Francis had in all likelihood taught him - 'well, not _ that _ old. We houseshared at uni.'

'Marvellous!' says John Franklin, his hand still closed over Edward's, and begins to steer him into the Principal's Office, which is a terribly bleak little room. Edward's very glad that _ James _ has decided not to make it, if only because he's not sure how a panel of three would fit on the other side of the desk.

'Don't worry,' says John Franklin, smiling and leaning back in his leather desk chair - Francis is perched on a plastic classroom stool, and looks rather like he does want Edward to worry. They give him the ordinary interview spiel, in a kind of Good-Cop-Bad-Cop routine that clearly _ wasn't _ rehearsed, because John keeps looking at Francis as though he's surprised by the force of his questions. Finally, they reach the last question, which Francis reads out very slowly, like it's a riddle. It sort of is.

'How do you show your dedication to Equality and Diversity in the school environment.'

'Uh. Is that a question?'

'Give it your best shot,' says John Franklin.

'Do you want an _ example_?'

'Just show your dedication to Equality and Diversity in the school environment.' says Francis, tiredly. Edward frowns.

'Well... it's important for me that school is... a safe space for the students? And... when they come into school, that they feel... safe.'

John hums in agreement, nodding at Edward and Francis in turn.

'Just... I think... school... is a place... for students. Where they're safe. No matter who they are?'

Crozier looks _ exhausted_, and John claps once and _ beams _ again - 'Fantastic, Edward! I've really got a good feeling about you.'

'Thank y-'

'Now, Francis and I are going to have a little chat about all of this, but I have just one more question for you: if we offered you the job right now, what would you say?'

'I - well, I haven't done my microteach yet!'

'Would you say yes or no?' Francis says.

'I - yes, of course.'

'Terrific!' says John, standing and letting Edward back into the foyer.

He immediately takes a seat, puts his head in his hands and says, miserably, '"_Safe space_"?'

'Hi!' says John Irving from the itinerary -

'Have you been waiting outside the whole time?'

'What? Oh, no, I was just asked to show you around and remembered that you've got your microteach in a bit. Would you like a cup of tea?'

Edward checks his watch. It feels like he’s been grilled by Francis and John Franklin for _ hours _ \- but it's still only half past ten. He nods, and follows John up that same staircase, passing the overfilled staff pigeon holes and old year photographs on the way up. At the top of the stairs, a greasy door leads into a rather grim-looking staff room, empty of people but filled with those fraying blue chairs that seem to be a hallmark of education. John takes him over to a similarly greasy counter, and collects two red mugs emblazoned with the branding of _ Goldner's Catering Supplies_. The water from the kettle comes out full of limescale.

'Thank you, John.'

John gets a pint of milk out of the tiny refrigerator, examines how it moves in the bottle, and puts it back in.

'I hope you don't want milk.'

'I'll live without,' says Edward, who wasn't honestly planning on drinking his tea. It, too, has come up with a greasy film on it.

'Are you liking King William's? Do you have any questions yet?'

'Everyone seems lovely.'

John smiles, and starts drinking his still-scalding tea.

'But I was wondering - what the difference between _ Assistant Head _ and _ Deputy Head _ was, if you know?'

'Oh,' says John, and checks his watch, 'well, the short version is that Francis has been here for _ much longer_. Mostly... Sir John is the face of things, and Francis deals with the nitty-gritty. And I suppose James is supposed to step in if Francis or Sir John can't.'

'... _ Sir _ John?'

'Sorry! Just a little joke here, I suppose, but I don't think it'll be long before he gets knighted. He's got his MBE, you know.'

'I saw. So you call him Sir John because of his MBE?'

'Oh, no. It's because most of us were his students at some point and... old habits die hard, I suppose.'

'_You _ were a King William's student?'

'_Long _ time ago now - T-Block class of '04! Actually -'

He drags Edward back outside of the staff room, to the photographs littering the walls, alighting his finger upon one of them.

'- There's me!'

A very young John Irving stares out of the image, looking even more like a scout leader without his beard - 'And over here in '09, Charles!' John walks his fingers down the pictures, and Edward watches Sir John, Francis, and a man he assumes to be Deputy Head James age in reverse - 'George... Graham... Doctor Goodsir's over here somewhere too... I think he's younger... and if we go all the way back -!'

'Is that _ Francis?_'

'I told you!' says John, sounding elated, 'We're a _ family_.'

-

'It's a _ cult_,' says outgoing Business Studies teacher James Walter Fairholme, sitting on his desk after the students file out following Edward's not-exactly _ disastrous _ microteach, 'why are any of us here? The pay's good, we feel _ indebted _ to King William's, but it's cursed. I'm telling you this, honest as they get - I'm going down south to work in shipping. I can't stand it.'

'I -' says Edward.

'Nice people!' Fairholme continues, 'Lovely people! Piss-poor management. I'm going out there and saying it - you're your own man, you can do what you please in all honesty but. Re-think it. This place will suck your soul out and before you know it you'll be like Francis Crozier: half-shitfaced just to get through the day, "_Just another couple of years until I can retire_", I'm _ telling _you -'

John Irving from the itinerary pushes the door open, and James falls silent.

'Hope you're not trying to turn Edward off of us, James!'

'... No.'

'Alright, Edward, just one more thing on your itinerary! Edmund from Personnel has provided _ biscuits _ \- and you'll get to meet all the rest of the staff... who can be bothered to make the trek to the staff room.' He gives a breathless little laugh as Edward collects up his bag and straightens his suit jacket, which really is going to have to be replaced. He'd heard the lining rip when writing on the board, and can only count his blessings that it wasn't his trousers.

The school, though small, seems absolutely labyrinthine. John leads Edward up and down staircases seemingly at random, dodging students at every turn, though not entirely able to avoid them, and John has some unhappy words for a lad named Magnus who won't move off of the stairs.

'Here we are again,' says John, redundantly, pushing into the staff room which is now, in complete contrast to earlier, almost packed. It really is a very tiny room. At the corner set of low chairs, Edward can see George, sitting with one foot crossed onto the opposite knee, who catches his eye and winks. John delivers Edward first to the cluster closest to the door -

'These are our scientists! Doctor Goodsir -'

'Please, call me Harry,'

'Doctor McDonald -'

'_Alex_, please.'

'Doctor Peddie -'

'Jack.'

'and Doctor Stanley!'

There's an awkward pause. Doctor Stanley's hand is ice-cold, and he's _ very _ tall.

'Please call me Doctor Stanley.'

'Right!' says John, brightly, 'and here's Silna, she's our Music wizard.'

Silna wiggles the fingers of one hand in greeting, sitting down next to Harry Goodsir, but otherwise doesn't say anything. John gives her a polite nod, and looks around for anyone else to greet; no one else has reached the staff room yet. He sighs, and Edward begins to trail him into the corner, and toward the plate of biscuits.

George looks up from his phone with affected disinterest -

'John, who's this weirdo beardo?'

John stops breathing 'Oh, I am _ so sorry _ -'

'John, really it's fine -'

'How could it _ possibly _ be _ fine_?' says John, pitching up with each word, but George has already leapt into Edward's arms, both _ I've-missed-you-bro_-ing incomprehensibly.

'Sorry, John,' says George, eventually, 'I saw my chance - it _ was _ a good prank, though -'

'You know each other?' says John, shaking a little, and Edward gives him an apologetic smile -

'I thought you knew -'

'You didn't _ mention it? _ ' George squawks, 'Do our London Lane days mean _ nothing _ to you?'

'I figured you would have told everyone.'

'About what? The time -'

'The time you drank too much red bull and I thought you were going to have a heart attack, or when you cycled up the hill to prove you could, got off your bike and threw up?'

'- I was _ going _ to say "that time we burned the lemon meringue and both cried", but _ fine _ -'

John, one hand on his chest, wheezes, 'I thought we were both about to _ lose our jobs_, George!'

'For _ this guy_? Edward '_I'd never work a comp again_' Little? I have to say, Eddie, not very Guardian Reader of you, that.'

Edward gives John a pained look, and John quickly makes an exit, having been outed as a gossip - Edward turns back to George -

'Your fault I thought it wasn't!'

'What? How?'

'Well, _ you _ went here!'

'And? I -' he gasps in sudden realisation, '- _ Edward_. The things you say can be _ very hurtful_.'

'George.'

'I am your _ oldest _ and _ most loyal _ friend - I get you an interview at the best secondary school I know -'

'- the _ only _ secondary school you know -'

'- a _ shoe-in _ for head of business studies -'

'Hang on -' no-one had said anything about -

'- and you tell me you've spent ten years labouring under the impression I'm some kind of _ Public School Student_? Good _ God_, man!'

'_Head _ of business studies?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick rundown of British Education Bullshit for Assorted Aliens & Those Not In The Business:
> 
> \- PGCE is your Post-Graduate Certificate of Education; a bonus degree to allow you to teach. generally takes two years, during which time you still teach, but you don't really know what you're doing.  
\- Public School is a school your parents pay for (you are the bourgeoisie)  
\- State schools are paid for by the government  
\- Comprehensive schools have non-selective intake / you have to pass a test to go to Grammar school, about half of the country doesn't have state grammars any more
> 
> most importantly this is all silly but school is like this 4 real (rip)


End file.
